


you lift me up to see the view

by 97skies



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Boo Seungkwan is Whipped, F/F, Girls Kissing, Pining, Rule 63, any yearners in chat, haircuts ??, sapphics being sapphics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 21:47:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30078813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/97skies/pseuds/97skies
Summary: Coming home is arguably one of Seungkwan’s favorite activities.That is, until she walks into the bathroom and her eyes glance down and she zeroes in on a pile of hair just short of the sink.“Chwe Hansol!” She yells, groaning in anguish as she looks around for more.
Relationships: Boo Seungkwan/Chwe Hansol | Vernon
Comments: 12
Kudos: 27





	you lift me up to see the view

**Author's Note:**

> hihihi 
> 
> so uh... yeah idk? i like girls and this may or may not be inspired by the fact that i, too, impulsively chop all my hair in my bathroom when i am stressed. 
> 
> [dygonilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dygonilly) tweeted at some point abt wanting more fem!svt fics then this wormed its way into my brain. here we are. (pls go check out her stuff it's amazing) 
> 
> title from '1, 2' by mxmtoon!

Coming home is arguably one of Seungkwan’s favorite activities. 

“Hansol?” She calls, toeing off her shoes after shutting the door, dropping her keys in the ashtray Hansol made for her last Christmas. She doesn’t get an answer, but that only means that Hansol’s blasting music in her headphones and can’t hear her; she’s always home in the afternoon. 

Seungkwan slings off her backpack, dropping it in her chair in the kitchen. Her eyes catch on the canvas laying in the sunlight from the window. She grins. It’s new, still shining with wet paint, but she walks over to look at it properly. Hansol’s been studying nature lately, and this is no different, a skyline of mountains covered in green and crouching in front of a setting sun. Seungkwan turns her head, admiring the clouds swirling in pinks and purples; it’ll be perfect to hang up in the foyer. 

“Hansol-ah!” She calls again, peeling off her jacket as she heads to their shared bathroom. She spots her favorite tube of glitter-base on the coffee table and frowns. 

She doesn’t remember taking it out, and she certainly wouldn’t have left it on the coffee table. Hansol must’ve gotten into her makeup again, and Seungkwan rolls her eyes. She remembers putting her makeup away neatly before Soonyoung came to pick her up, and can only assume that it’s now a mild disaster. 

But, she’s in a good mood. Shopping with Soonyoung and Minghao tends to do that, especially when Minghao offers to buy them coffee with all her money from her new job as a fancy editor. Seungkwan only ended up getting a new pair of earrings, but that’s not the point—especially when she gets to gossip about Soonyoung’s latest love interest and how Minghao already doesn’t like her. So, she’ll let the messy bathroom slide. 

That is, until she walks into the bathroom and her eyes glance down and she zeroes in on a pile of hair just short of the sink. 

“Chwe Hansol!” She yells, groaning in anguish as she looks around for more. 

Hansol isn’t generally an impulsive person, but she has the nastiest habit of chopping her hair in the bathroom— _ their _ bathroom—when it gets too long. At least, that’s what  _ she _ says. Which isn’t entirely unbelievable, because her hair does grow super fast, but Seungkwan finds it awfully convenient that Hansol’s hair always happens to be “too long” when she’s stressed about her classes. The first time Seungkwan came home to Hansol standing over the sink, hacking away at her waves with their kitchen scissors, she was horrified. Mainly because there’s only one hair stylist in the entire world that has the privilege of touching her own bangs, but also because there was nothing covering the drain for the sink (“Hansol! The  _ pipes _ !”).

“In here,” Hansol calls back, dripping with sweetness. Seungkwan huffs. 

She snatches up the hair of the floor and marches into Hansol’s room. “How many times do I have to tell you, you have to lay down newspaper or something before you do this—” 

She’s cut off by Hansol grinning at her from her bed, glowing in the sunlight. “How do I look?” She asks, shaking her head and tousling the back of her hair. 

Seungkwan swallows. The other reason she was annoyed by Hansol chopping her own hair was the fact that she looks gorgeous no matter how her hair’s cut. Back when she had it long, black sheets rippling like a river and pooling on her shoulders. Slipping and silky when she tucked it behind her ears, raising an eyebrow. When she cut it to her shoulders and dyed it purple, matching with Soonyoung; she looked like a superhero, neon and swishy. Chan said she was practically glow-in-the-dark. Then the pixie cut, which made Seungkwan’s legs feel like mush. Hansol always said that was her favorite, because she liked her jawline and wanted to show it off. Seungkwan had scoffed and called her conceited, but it was definitely her favorite, too. Hansol has really cute ears. 

It grew out maybe an inch, and she went to go stay with Chaeyoung and Dahyun for a sleepover and came back with her whole head bleached, bangs wispy and hanging in her eyes. Seungkwan was sure her brain started leaking out of her ears. 

The bleach has long since been covered by a layer of auburn, which faded into a brassy gold. And it’s grown out a lot, too. When Seungkwan left this morning, it hung just past Hansol’s collarbones. 

Now it’s been cut to her chin, choppy and uneven all the way around. There looks like an attempt at some bangs, long and falling into her eyes. It’s dark and moves when she turns her head, blunt and incredibly punk. Seungkwan’s mind moves at max-speed. She looks unsettling. Startling. Like a shock to the system. Hot. Gorgeous. Stunning— 

“It looks fine,” Seungkwan manages, a failing attempt at gathering herself. “But can you please put down some newspaper or something next time?” 

Hansol pouts, pushing at her bangs. “I did! I swear!” She grins, using all of her teeth and it’s like a shot to Seungkwan’s chest. “It must’ve fallen off the newspaper. I’m sorry.” 

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Seungkwan huffs, but then Hansol turns to shake her head again, enjoying the newfound lightness. Seungkwan spots the shine on the tops of her cheeks as she moves, and she focuses on the iridescent glitter catching in the sunlight.  _ Seungkwan’s _ iridescent glitter. She wants to scream. 

“Were you digging around in my makeup?” tries Seungkwan, struggling to get the words out. Her mouth is suddenly very dry. 

“Oh,” Hansol says, brushing her fingers along her cheek. “Yeah, sorry—I was gonna put it back but I got distracted.” 

Seungkwan chews on her lip in an attempt to keep herself from saying something stupid, like  _ you look like the punk version of Titania _ or  _ can i kiss you into that mattress? _ “It’s okay, uh, it looks nice on you.” Hansol’s eyes crinkle into crescents. “I saw your new painting, by the way.” 

“What do you think?” She asks, grabbing at Seungkwan’s fingers, and pulls her onto the bed. 

“It’s beautiful,” Seungkwan answers, eyes wandering around Hansol’s shoulders and collarbones. She’s wearing one of Nayeon’s old t-shirts, and the collar is all stretched out. “I was gonna ask if we can hang it in the foyer?” 

“You like it that much? I thought you wanted a cool color scheme for the living room?” Hansol teases.

Seungkwan rolls her eyes. “Fine, keep your painting, Hansol-ah.”

“You know I’m just teasing you,” Hansol whines, running her fingers along Seungkwan’s forearms. “I’d be honored for you to include it in your interior design.” Seungkwan softens—only slightly. 

Hansol grins, because she knows Seungkwan could never be mad at her. “Actually, I made the clouds purple for you,” She scratches behind her ear. “You mentioned how much you liked it in my last assignment.” 

“So you can think of me while you’re painting, but you can’t sweep up the hair in our bathroom? Our  _ shared _ bathroom?” Seungkwan asks, in spite of her face heating up. (Seriously, who just  _ says _ stuff like that?)

“I said I’m sorry,” Hansol pouts, but Seungkwan knows the glint in her eyes like the moles on the back of her hands. “Hey, I have a new idea for a painting,” 

Seungkwan raises an eyebrow. “Okay?”

Hansol grabs Seungkwan’s hands and clasps them against her chest. Seungkwan reminds herself to breathe. “Let’s go have a picnic! It’ll be fun!” She sees Seungkwan’s skeptical look and leans forward, whining. “C’mon, I can use the travel paint box you got me. And I can take the new haircut out for a spin.” She shakes out one side of her hair for emphasis. 

Seungkwan sighs, like she could ever say no. Hansol gives her a shit-eating grin, and Seungkwan clicks her tongue. 

“I’ll go pack a basket,” 

“This is gonna be fun! Promise!” 

“What, watching you scare kids with your new hair?” Seungkwan quips, standing up from the bed, and Hansol shoves at her shoulder, laughing. 

“I know you like it!” She calls as Seungkwan leaves the room, and Seungkwan is eternally grateful that she’s facing away—if Hansol took one look, she’d know just  _ how _ much she likes it. 

  
  
  


The park by their house is always beautiful at this time of day, but much to Seungkwan’s disappointment, there aren’t any children to ogle at Hansol’s new emo hair. She looks like she belongs on the cover of  _ Rolling Stone _ . 

Maybe it’s horribly distracting, but that’s between Seungkwan and lesbian god. (Sappho? Hayley Kiyoko? Marceline the Vampire Queen?) 

Normally, Seungkwan would just bask in the sun and complain while Hansol took down several tupperware containers of food, but today she decided to bring a book for her lit class. Hansol’s impossible to talk to while she paints, incredibly focused and zoned out, and Seungkwan was  _ not _ going to deal with the curse of having nothing to do but stare at her hot friend while she makes art in the sunlight. She’ll keep her gay misfortune to a minimum, thank you. 

She’s tried to sneak a couple of glances, but Hansol’s very firm on her  _ no peeking _ policy. So Seungkwan just sits at an angle next to her, reading and trying to not get sidetracked by her phone or the ants crawling along in the grass. 

Hansol gets this look on her face when she’s painting: a set frown, a hard crease between her brows. Seungkwan always nags her about it, mainly because it’s very cute, but also because she doesn’t want her to get wrinkles. Though, she’s not sure even wrinkles could change the way Hansol’s face stands out. Timeless, romantic. Like a film star from any decade. 

The haircut suits her. She looks rough around the edges, like a page torn from some ancient novel. Seungkwan thinks that she should be the one getting painted, all angles and dark hair floating around her face like magic. Seungkwan glances up, and feels the hint of a smile at the way Hansol’s brow furrows. 

It’s independent of her body, really, the way her hand reaches up to smooth the crease between Hansol’s brows. She doesn’t even look up from her book; she doesn’t have to. She knows exactly where the crease lays, and she also knows what makes it grow deeper and what makes it melt away into skin, soft and freckled. 

She feels more than hears the way Hansol’s breath hitches. It shouldn’t, not really, because they do this all the time. They’re both affectionate. Seungkwan regularly sneaks into her bed when she can’t sleep or if the heat feels like it’s escaping her room during the winter. Hansol holds her hand whenever they’re walking anywhere. Even if they’re just watching something on the couch. 

This is different, and Seungkwan can’t place why. She doesn’t really want to try, just fusses at the space between Hansol’s brows for a moment, then gently slides her fingers along the edge of her face, trying her best to look casual when her hand lands back in her lap. 

There’s a moment of quiet where neither of them move. Seungkwan reads the same sentence maybe ten times. 

“Seungkwan-ah,” Hansol musters, and it’s barely a whisper. Seungkwan swallows. 

The whole of her vocabulary is waiting on the tip of her tongue, a number of excuses or jokes to ease the moment, but when she lifts her eyes, Hansol is looking at her the same way she looks at her favorite paintings. She looks fully charged. Lightning in a bottle. 

Seungkwan waits for the ground to open up and swallow her, but Hansol glances down at her lips twice before she looks back to her canvas. 

Hansol heaves a breath. “Okay—just—just wait a sec, okay?” 

Seungkwan blinks. 

She looks down at her book, then her phone. Time has in fact passed, and that moment did indeed happen. 

“What? What the hell are you—”

“—just one sec, okay?” 

Seungkwan opens her mouth, then closes it, then does it again—like a freaking fish. For the first time in her short, gay life, she’s at a total loss for words. 

She sits up straight like a marionette, held up by invisible strings. She doesn’t even know what she’s waiting  _ for _ , exactly, but she still feels like someone just plugged her into a nuclear reactor. 

After what feels like a century of Hansol frantically scribbling on her canvas, she looks up at Seungkwan, sunny and open. Eyebrow crease completely absent from the equation.

“Okay…?” Seungkwan tries, feeling like her head is spinning. “What am I waiting for?” 

“This.” Hansol answers, and in all Seungkwan’s years of knowing her, she’s not sure that she ever could’ve predicted what she sees when Hansol spins the canvas around. 

It’s a portrait of Seungkwan, in dozens of colors, turned toward the camera with a grin. Her hair is a sunset of purples, yellows, oranges, falling all over her shoulders, tucked behind one ear. Just like she always does when she’s nervous. Her smile is blue, green, crinkly at the edges in a way she used to hate when she was younger. Hansol once said it was her favorite thing about her. 

Seungkwan feels dizzy. She blinks, once at the canvas, then once up at Hansol. She’s watching her face carefully, but smiling like she knows what’s running through Seungkwan’s head. 

“Do you like it?” She asks softly, encouraging. 

Seungkwan’s smile creeps up on her, and she couldn’t have hidden it if she wanted to. “It’s…” She laughs. “It’s gorgeous, Hansol-ah.” 

Hansol rolls her eyes fondly. “Duh, it’s gorgeous, dummy,” She cocks her head to the side. “It’s you.” 

Seungkwan, despite the rising feeling in her chest, manages to blow a raspberry. “God, Hansol, that is like, the lamest thing I’ve ever heard—” 

Hansol cuts her off by placing the canvas on the grass and clicking her tongue. “You love it.” 

Seungkwan shakes her head, waiting to wake up. Hansol reaches over and places a hand on Seungkwan’s cheek, thumb tracing lightly under her eye. Seungkwan feels it coming, but doesn’t let herself believe until Hansol’s pushing their lips together and sighing like the world’s been lifted off of her. 

It’s soft and sweet, just like Hansol. Cheesy like her too. Seungkwan threads a hand through her new sexy haircut, and smiles onto Hansol’s lips. She just might lose her mind. 

She pulls away to breathe, and Hansol chases her lips. Seungkwan giggles. Belatedly, she notices the smear of pink next to Hansol’s mouth, and pulls her hand away to feel at her own face. 

She gasps at the paint that comes away on her hand. “Chwe Hansol!” 

Hansol doesn’t try to hide her laughter. “Oops.” 

Seungkwan smacks her shoulder without venom. Hansol shrugs, and the only way Seungkwan knows how to answer is by grabbing a fistful of her t-shirt and kissing her again, tongue first. 

**Author's Note:**

> *gay sigh*
> 
> [twt!](https://twitter.com/J1W00S)


End file.
